


Le Tournoi d'Camelot

by Captain_Kieren



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur is passed out, Because destiny and friendship, Gaius worries a lot about merlin, Gen, Merlin is Arthur's borderline slave, Merlin looks like Arthur, Merlin pretending to be a noble, Merlin protecting Arthur, Timeline: Season one or two, but it's all in good fun, morgana isn't evil yet, transformation spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2707931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Kieren/pseuds/Captain_Kieren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Merlin discovers that a tournament to be held in Camelot will mean the death of Arthur if he participates, he must take his place in the competition to save him.  And hope he doesn't get caught.</p><p>Originally posted on fanfiction.net</p><p>Updated daily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kilgharrah's Call

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on Fanfiction.net

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my very first Merlin fic so I'm working on their characters and how to write dialogue for them but regardless, I hope you like it :) Feedback is loved <3

A cool, silvery light trickles in through the wooden shutters over the windows in court physician's quarters, casting bluish shadows over the work bench and short, wood table. In one of the small back rooms, the physician's young ward is sprawled face-down on his bed, mouth slightly ajar, arm dangling over the side with fingers brushing the floor. In his sleep, he mumbles softly in a strange, forgien language and all around him cupboard drawers sway open and closed, papers flutter through the air, clothes drag along the floor, all of which seeming to oblige to whatever incantations the snoozing sorcerer is chanting.

  
This is something Gaius has pestered him about endlessly, fretting and worrying that someone will barge in on him in his sleep and find things floating in the air around him. But Merlin has always pointed out that no one ever has and probably never will. Besides, he always reasons, he doesn't always sleep-chant. Only once, maybe twice a week...

  
However, as luck would have it, it's one of these supposedly 'rare' days that their front door is thrown open and an apparently anxious Prince Arthur comes barging in. There's an irritated scowl on the young prince's face as he stomps straight through the main room toward the door he knows hides his servant's bed.

  
"Oh _Merlin_!" Arthur grumbles not bothering to knock. Instead, he simply lifts his foot and quite literally kicks the door open. It slams against the wall on the inside of Merlin's room, jerking the young sorcerer awake so that the papers fall to the ground and the clothes stop dragging, but before the prince manages to get a look inside the dark chamber, Gaius comes hurrying in.

  
"Oh! Prince Arthur!" He gasps a bit breathlessly. "I was not expecting you, Sire." Even as he speaks the physician is taking nervous glances past his ward's master into Merlin's room, where the young man is now stirring tiredly, stumbling out of bed.

  
"Ah, yes. I do apologize, Gaius, for the intrusion... However, it would seem my lazy manservant has neglected to remember that I asked him to be in my chamber by first light." Arthur turns back to Merlin, who is yawning and rubbing his eyes, black hair stuck up on one side of his head. "Isn't that right, clotpole?" He growls in annoyance.

  
"That's still my word..." Merlin mumbles tiredly. "And, erm, sorry Arthur. I may have overslept..."

  
Arthur glares at him for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. "Honestly, is there _anything_ you're good at?"

  
Merlin has to fight the knowing smile that threatens to touch his lips and instead, he shrugs weakly. 

  
Planting his hands on his hips, Arthur rolls his eyes and grumbles, "That's what I thought." He watches for a moment as Merlin sits down on a stool by the table and stretches his arms over his head, noticing with some mixed guilt and satisfaction that the bruise he got from their last hunting trip is still there on his shoulder. "You know, Merlin, any other prince might have you fired or even put in the stocks for neglecting your duties as you so often do."

  
"Then it's a good thing I work for a prat instead." He replies without missing a beat. Yawning again.

  
Arthur's eyebrow arcs upward and he folds his arms over his chest, staring in disbelief at the total lack of respect being shown to him. In a way, that's the reason he values Merlin so greatly as a more than just a servant, why he so often seeks his council and advice. Because, for whatever reason, the young man seems to have no care for the possible reprocutions of speaking his mind in front of the future king. On the other hand...

  
With a snarl, the prince picks up a spoon from the table and chucks it at Merlin's head, which he narrowly avoids. "Because I'm a merciful master, I will give you fifteen minutes to be in my chamber. A minute later and I'll have you in the stocks for a week, is that understood, you disrespectful dollophead?!"

  
Merlin turns to him with his trademark, annoying smile and nods. "Thanks for understanding, Arthur." He says simply, getting up from his seat to help Gaius with breakfast.  
Grinding his teeth for a moment, Arthur huffs and them stomps toward the door, suddenly unsure of why he doesn't just fire the idiot. But he doesn't. Instead, he grumps all the way back to his chamber, where he supposes he'll have to fetch breakfast for himself.

  
"You really shouldn't speak to him in that manner, Merlin." Gaius protests as he closes the door, but Merlin simply smirks at him and nods his head.

  
"I know. But he'd get bored if I stopped, keeps him on his toes, you know?"

  
The physician chuckles as he stirs a pot of steaming liquid over the fire. Merlin reaches for the cupboard where the bowls are kept and takes two down, as well as some spoons. He hands them to Gaius, who thanks him and goes to serving the gruel.

  
While he waits, Merlin takes his usual seat at the table, stretching his arms over his head again, stiff back arching as he yawns. Relaxing back into his seat, he turns toward the pitcher of water he fetched last night and extends a hand. Eyes flashing amber, the young sorcerer smiles as the jug floats into the air, tipping over to spill water into two wooden cups, which levitate to the table once they're full.

  
"Merlin..." Gaius grumbles disapprovingly. His ward knows how he disapproves of magic being used for such mundane, unimportant tasks. He's about to voice his displeasure when Merlin says,

  
"I know, I know. But really, Gaius, it's important this time. I only have fifteen minutes after all." His pale face is lighted with a crooked grin and the physician can only shake his head and place the boy's breakfast in front of him.

  
"Then you'd better eat fast, who will clean my leach tank if you're in the stocks for a week?" Gaius teases, earning a sarcastic laugh from Merlin, who only takes a few bites before standing up to go to his room so he can dress for the day. His mentor's eyebrows go up at the sight of the bowl of gruel steadily rising up from the table to follow him.

* * *

When Merlin finally arrives at Arthur's chamber, exactly fourteen minutes later, he's dressed in a grey tunic and his usual red scarf, black hair pressing closely to his forehead as he attempts to straighten it with his fingers. Without knocking, he opens the door and steps inside, finding the prince just finishing with his breakfast.

  
Arthur smiles when he sees him. "Ah, _Mer_ lin, you're just in time to take the dishes down to the kitchen, fetch my armor from the court blacksmith, set up the training yard, and help me train for the upcoming tournament!" The prince sits back into his chair with a pleased smirk on his face at how tired Merlin looks just thinking about the full day ahead.  
Swallowing his annoyance, Merlin only smiles back. "Of course, Sire." He says stiffly. "Will there be anything else?"

  
"Hmm." The blonde man taps his chin thoughtfully before hopping to his feet and shaking his head. "Nope, that'll be everything. I'll meet in the yard for training in ten minutes."

  
"Ten minutes?" Merlin echoes in disbelief. "You expect me get all that done in ten minutes?"

  
Arthur feigns realization and chuckles, crossing the chamber to where his servent is standing. "Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry. You're right." He reaches out to roughly squeeze the boy's cheek, causing Merlin to wince and force a tight smile. "What ever was I thinking? Perhaps ten minutes is too much time. Wouldn't want you getting lazy, now would we?"  
The forced smile remains on Merlin's face but he grunts his 'agreement'.

  
"Or, should I say, laz _ie_ r." Arthur pats his servent's cheek a couple times before backing off and heading toward the door. "I'll see you in the yard in five minutes then." As the door shuts, Merlin's upturned lips twitch and he curls his fingers into a fist.

  
"Or should I say _lazierrrr..._ " He mimics sarcastically in a voice that is several octaves too high. Snorting in frustration, Merlin gathers the metal dishes into his arms and hurries out the door, silently wondering why he tries so hard to protect the arrogant prince. _Oh yeah...because he's my 'destiny'._ Sighing, he decides there's no way he'll make it to the yard in five minutes, Arthur surely knows that. Still, the longer he keeps his master waiting, the more Arthur is sure to pester him about his 'laziness' so he'd better get a move on...

* * *

  
In all, it takes about ten minutes for Merlin to leave the dishes in the kitchen and make his way to the other end of the castle, where the court blacksmith is hammering away at a red-hot sword, ready to bathe in the tub of cold water at the smith's feet. At the sound of his door opening, the man glances up and smiles at Merlin.

  
"Merlin," He greets happily. "Been a while since you've stopped by. Here for Prince Arthur's armor and weapons, I presume?"

  
"Yes." He confirms with a smile of his own. "Have you finished repairing them?"

  
"Of course, of course." The smith assures him, leaving the half-hammered sword laying on the bench so that he can disappear into the back room of the shop for a moment, coming back with an arm full of steel plate armor, a sword, and a dagger. All of which looks heavy even for the well-built, muscle-bound blacksmith. He deposits the armor into Merlin's thin arms and laughs apologetically when the young man staggers under its weight. "Sorry, would you like me to help you carry that down to him?"

  
"No, no, it's fine." Merlin tells him in a strained voice as he fights to regain his balance. Smiling tightly, he thanks the smith and heads for the door.

  
"You sure you don't want any help?"

  
"Nope, I'm actually much stronger than I look!" He calls as he nudges the door shut with his hip. Merlin stumbles down the hall and turns a corner, taking a moment to glance around and make sure the coast is clear, his eyes swirl gold and he lowers his arms, Arthur's gear magically remaining at his chest level. "Phew." He sighs, rotating his shoulders. The young servant easily strides down the hall, the heavy burden following him closely.

* * *

  
Merlin is just trotting down the narrow steps that lead to the yard when a familiar sensation tingles down his spine. Slowing to a halt, he pauses, searching his memory for what it means. However, he doesn't get long to think because a moment later, the voice floats through his mind, putting an end to his confusion.

  
 _"Merlin..."_ It's the dragon. His ancient voice echoing through the recesses of Merlin's head, making the young sorcerer slightly dizzy. _"We must talk. It is quite urgent, come find me immediately."_

  
Merlin chews his lip for a second. He doesn't really have time to go see him right now, what with him technically being over fifteen minutes 'late'. He wonders if the dragon can hear his thoughts like Merlin can hear his and focuses on his own consciousness, trying to project the message. " _Um, exactly how urgent are we talking here because I'm currently very late for a long day of slavery under my 'destiny'."_

  
He recieves no response so Merlin can only assume the dragon's beckons are one-way. With a heavy sigh, the sorcerer pauses at the bottom of the steps. The training yard--and Arthur--are just outside the door. The dragon is all the way beneath the dungeon. But if this really is as urgent as the dragon says then he'd best not ignore it.

  
Frowning, Merlin turns to a storage closet behind the stone steps and extends his hand. Eyes flashing, he mumbles, _"Aliese."_ The previously locked door swings open and a couple of brooms come tumbling out but he doesn't waste time on them. The gold doesn't get a chance to fade from his blue eyes before the cleaning instruments are standing up on their own and gliding back into the closet along with Arthur's gear. Closing the door once again, he mutters, _"Learh fearnancai"_ and nods to himself at the sound of the lock clicking back into place.

  
Merlin draws away from the cloest and steals a glance out the small window into the yard, where he can see Arthur lounging against a table, surely waiting for his servant to arrive. Groaning softly, Merlin hurries back up the steps, snatching an unlit torch from the wall on his way up.

  
 _Hopefully this doesn't take too long._ He comments to himself. _I'm already going to be his target during target practice, better not give him any more reasons to make a 'mistake'._

* * *

  
Merlin reaches the secret chamber below Camelot within a few minutes, making sure to close the iron gate behind him. He takes a few steps down the cracked, stone staircase before lifting the dark torch in front of him and saying, _"Leohtbora."_

  
With a crackle of energy, a plume of fire blooms to life atop the torch and the chamber is flooded with orange light. Merlin jogs down the steps, eager to find out what the dragon has to say so he can get back to his surely livid master.

  
However, the further he goes, the more uneasy the young magician becomes. The dragon never calls him on his own, it's always Merlin who has to seek him out for council. Not the other way around. Whatever this matter is, it must be very important.  
And probably has something to do with Arthur.


	2. A Threat In Camelot

"Hello?!" Merlin shouts into the shadowy cave where the dragon is chained. For such an enourmous creature, it sure is easy to lose track of him in here. "Hello?! Where are you?!"  
For a moment, he recieves no answer and Merlin grows a little irritated. It was the dragon who called him in the first place and now he's nowhere to be found. Why call him here if he wasn't prepared to talk? But then--

  
The sorcerer takes a small step back as a pair of massive wings come flapping into view from somewhere far above. The ancient dragon lands heavily on the peak of a stone in front of Merlin, shaking the cavern around them.

  
 _"Ah, Merlin."_ The dragon greets in his old, raspy voice. _"For a moment, I had begun to fear you did not hear my summons."_

  
"I heard." Merlin replies stiffly, still unsure of whether or not he should be trusting this thing. "You said it was urgent. Now, please, tell me what it is."

  
The dragon nods his large, reptilian head. _"Very well, warlock. It would seem a great evil has entered Camelot. A very powerful sorcerer. I fear that they may be seeking the death of the young prince."_

  
Merlin frowns. "What makes you think that?" He asks evenly, even though he's already running over ways to not let Arthur out of his sight for at least the next few days.  
"I do not know, it is merely a feeling." The dragon admits vaugely. "As you must have noticed, the ways of the old religion can sometimes be quite mysterious. Sometimes even I do not fully comprehend them."

  
Merlin sighs. Why does he always have to be so cryptic?

  
 _"But I do know this, young warlock, and heed my warning, for I fear that if it is ignored, it may ruin everything we've been working for."_

  
"What's the warning?"

  
 _"Arthur cannot be allowed to participate the competition. If he does, he will be killed and the land of Albion will never been united. Your destiny will never be fulfilled. Do you understand, Merlin?"_

  
Merlin presses his lips into a thin line and nods his head, feeling slightly chilled. It's nothing he hasn't faced before but it's never easy hearing that his friend's life is resting on his actions, and his actions alone. If he fails, Arthur will die. The land will remain locked in turmoil and paranoia. The ban on magic will never be lifted. Thousands more of his kind will continue to be slaughtered...

  
"I understand." He mumbles softly. "But what should I do? Arthur is determined to win the tournament."

  
The dragon almost appears to shrug his gigantic shoulders as his scaly wings fan out around him. _"I believe you know how to handle the prince better than I would, warlock. Do whatever you have to to keep Arthur out of the competition."_ And with that final bit of coucil, the dragon flaps his mighty wings and disappears over the ridge far above Merlin's head, leaving nothing but the clanging of his long chains behind.

  
Puffing out a weary sigh, Merlin turns and jogs back toward the stairs. "Great...thanks for your help." He mumbles sourly under his breath as he heads back toward the iron gate. "I'll just single handedly save the whole kingdom again, then. Sounds good."

* * *

  
At the sight of his manservant struggling through the door to the yard nearly thirty minutes later, arms piled high with armor and weapons, Arthur jumps to his feet and strides over, an intruiged perk to his eyebrows and his head tilted thoughtfully to the side. "Merlin, there you are." The prince says in an oddly calm voice - Merlin thought he would be livid by now. "For a while there, I thought you'd gotten lost or something."

  
"Um, sorry Sire." Merlin pants, staggering a bit to the side under the weight of his master's equipment. "This is really very heavy and it, erm, took a while to get down the stairs."  
Arthur sighs and shakes his head, taking a few pieces of his gear from the top of the stack and tossing them onto a nearby wooden bench to lighten Merlin's burden. Heaven knows the frail boy will probably collapse any second now. "You are honestly such a girl's petticoat, you know that?" He remarks dully, earning a weak smile from Merlin.

  
But that's when the young warlock suddenly thinks of something. Recalling the dragon's warning, he decides this might be a good time to try to work some..methaphorical magic on Arthur. "Thanks," He says a bit breathlessly as he sets the rest of the equipment down. "Really, Arthur, I don't know how you wear this stuff all the time. You know, if you don't give it a rest, you're gonna end up hurting yourself." Merlin says, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. To cover the nervousness in his voice, he just keeps rambling, trying to get his point across. "Have you thought about maybe taking a holiday from your...prince...hood...for a while? Just, you know, relaxing, giving yourself a break from the constant stress?" He looks up to find Arthur staring at him, looking quite unimpressed. "Erm, I've got it! Maybe you should take the next week off, go visit some of the outlying towns, get away from the monotony of the castle, see the countryside...? Maybe--"

  
"Merlin." Arthur cuts in, his voice even, if not a little weary.

  
And Merlin flinches, drumming his fingers awkwardly on the table. "Um, y-yes?"

  
"Is there something you're trying to tell me?" The prince asks, leaning forward so that he's perched on the edge of the table right in front of his suddenly awakward-feeling servant.

  
"Wh-what? No! Nope...not me." Merlin stammers, attempting a smile. "I'm just...trying to help."

  
"Ah." Arthur nods once, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Well then, in that case, may I remind you that I'm the future king of Camelot and cannot simply 'take a week off' from my duties. Besides," He says turning to take his sword from the table, sheathing in with a metallic hiss. "The tournament is this week and I'm sure I've made it clear how important it is that I win."

  
"Oh...yes...the, uh, the tournament. I'd almost forgotten." He mumbles, deciding that this first trick isn't going to work very well. Apparently, simply talking Arthur out of participating won't happen. Then again, what did he expect? This competition is all Arthur's been talking about since Uthir made the announcement that this year, the famous event would be held in Camelot for the first time in nearly a decade. All the knights and princes from the surrounding, allied kingdoms will gather to test their skills and strength. Most of them will be nearly double Arthur's age and experience, but this is the young Pendragon's first chance to participate and he's determined to win for that very reason.

  
When Merlin had asked him why it was that he wanted to win so badly, Arthur had only shrugged and told him that the event is held in Camelot this year and it would be embarassing if he were to lose...but it did not escape his servant's attention that, under very similar circumstances, Uthir won on his first year as well. Meaning it's more than likely that Arthur is just trying to live up to his father's glory and make him proud.

  
As Merlin begins strapping on Arthur's armor, he finds himself grimacing. His master's expression is distant, a pinch between his eyes. Even without knowing what it's like to be desperate to earn a father's approval, Merlin can understand the prince's need to win. Under any other circumstances, he would be cheering Arthur on and hoping he'd win. ...but he knows that what the dragon said is true. If Arthur competes, he will be killed.

  
That leaves Merlin with only one choice.

  
Frowning as he moves around Arthur to tighten his chain mail, the young sorcerer sweeps a weary hand through his hair. _The things I do for destiny._


	3. The Only Solution

_CRASH!_

  
_CRASH!_

  
"Come on, _Mer_ lin! You're not meant to be imitating a stone!" Arthur snaps as he lashes out with his sword again, the cold steel bouncing off the shield pressed firmly against Merlin's chest. His servant is braced against a wall - this being the only way for him to be able to take the blows without falling backwards everytime - wincing each time the weapon makes contact.

  
"Sire, couldn't--

  
 _CRASH!_

  
"--we maybe--"

  
 _CRASH!"_

  
"--stop for a bit?!" Merlin flinches preemptively at the sight of Arthur rearing back his sword again and braces for another impact. However, it doesn't come. Peeking open a single, grey eyes he finds his master staring at him with a look of weary annoyance.

  
"What for?" Arthur demands, sticking his blade into the ground and folding his arms.

  
Merlin smiles in relief and lowers the shield, rolling his aching shoulders. "It's just, erm, you're training for a very important tournament." He supplies weakly, and Arthur raises an eyebrow.

  
"I know that, Merlin."

  
"So...doesn't it make sense to train with the other knights? I mean, I'm sure they would be better suited to--"

  
"Now, Merlin, I knew you were a girl's petticoat but I didn't think you were this...dainty. Come on, we've only been at it for two hours!" Arthur scoffs.

  
"That's not it, Sire." Merlin assures him, lips pursing at being called a girl's petticoat. Again. "I'm serious. Why not train with Leon or one of the other knights? Surely attacking the same stationary shield hour after hour isn't doing you much good."

  
Arthur pauses, seeming to contemplate his servant's words. Then, planting his hands on his hips, he releases a heavy sigh. "Normally, Merlin, you would be right." The prince admits. "However, this particular tournament is one where each and every knight and prince across the allied kingdoms will be participating in. I, alone, be fighting at least fifty opponents, including members of Camelot's own." He trails off then, looking slightly guilty as if he's just admitted some big secret.

  
But Merlin isn't quite sure what that secret was. "So?" He asks. "What does that mean?"

  
Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly irritated that his brainless servant needs further explination. "It means, Merlin, that the longer the other knights go without fighting me, the better chance I have of catching them off guard in the competition and defeating them."

  
Merlin raises his eyebrows, admittedly surprised at the underhanded method his friend has chosen to partake in. Lowering his eyes to the ground, he tres to conceal the amused grin on his face. "Sire, I had no idea you were so inconfident in your abilities..." He teases quietly.

  
Although by now, he really should know better.

  
"Merlin!" Arthur barks in outrage, yanking his sword out of the ground with a ferocity that makes his servant flinch and scramble for the shield.

  
 _CRASH!_

  
_CRASH!_

* * *

  
It's late in the evening when the door to the physicians quarters creak open and Gaius looks up to find his young ward stumbling into the room. His black hair is mussed and full of dirt. Smears of mud adorn his forehead and cheeks and his right arm is bent at angle that looks like he might have been holding a shield all day. The royal physician smirks is mixed amusement and sympathy, standing from his chair so Merlin can sit down. Probably for the first time all day.

  
"Arthur really put you through the ringer today, eh?" Gaius asks, guiding Merlin to sit, which he does heavily and with a low groan.

  
"Gaius." Merlin breathes tiredly, eyes already closed as if he might fall asleep any second now. "I don't think I've _ever_ been more exhausted in my entire life." He tries to sit up so he can stretch his throbbing arms but only succeeds in nearly toppling sideways. Luckily, his mentor helps him stand from his seat and takes him to his room, deciding it would be better for him to lay down.

  
"It's probably hard to believe but I'm sure Arthur appreciates your help. This tournament is very important to him." Gaius says as he lowers Merlin to the bed, earning a scoff from the boy.

  
"Appreciate? Gaius, I'm not sure if that word is even in Arthur's vocabulary. You know what the last thing he said to me today was? After letting him attack me for nearly six hours straight?" Fueled by his frustration, Merlin manages to prop himself onto his elbows, a sour expression on his face. In an exaggerated high-pitch voice, he says, "I guess that will have to do for today. Make sure you aren't late tomorrow or I'll have you in the stocks!"

  
Gaius sighs and shakes his head, pushing Merlin back down. "Now I'm sure he was only teasing with you."

  
Merlin moans tiredly and closes his eyes again. "And now I have to figure out a way to save his sorry hide _again_ or he'll die."

  
There's a short pause, filled with tension, before Gaiuse whispers, "Merlin, what are you talking about? Is he in danger again?"

  
Merlin nods his head without opening his eyes. His voice is thick with sleep when he says, "I've spoken with the dragon again, Gaius. I heard him calling my name and he told me that if Arthur participates in this competition, he'll be killed by some powerful sorcerer."

  
"My..." Gaius breathes, straightening up. "But from what I've heard, the prince is determined to win. It would be pointless to try and talk him out of it."

  
Merlin nods jerkily and rolls onto his side. "Trust me, I know. I've been trying all day. There's only one thing that'll work."  
"And that is?"  
Finally opening his eyes, Merlin allows a small smirk despite himself. "I'm going to take his place in the tournament."

  
Gaius frowns, obviously unconvinced. "Merlin, maybe you _should_ get some rest. You're not making sense."

  
Merlin snickers and shakes his head. "I'll explain in the morning. Trust me, it's the only way to satisfy Arthur's determination to win and keep him safe." With that, Gaius leaves the room, allowing his ward to drift off to a much deserved sleep.

* * *

  
"So you mean to magically alter your apperance to look like Arthur and take his place in the tournament." Gaius rehashes, gaining a nod from Merlin. "And what are you going to do about the real Arthur?"

  
"That will...just come together on its own, I'm sure." Merlin says as he spoons some soup into his mouth, smirking at the look his teacher gives him. "Trust me, Gaius, it'll be fine. I've it covered."

  
"And what if you are caught? This isn't a game, Merlin. Glamours are very unpredictable spells!"

  
"I know, I've done my research."

  
"I fear that if the spell breaks and you are found out, there is nothing I can do to save you. Uthir will surely put you to death."

  
Merlin frowns, lowering his eyes to the table. He isn't sure if Gaius knows just how often he thinks about that. The very real possibility that any day, he could be found out and strung up or burned at the stake. "Trust me, Gaius, I know. I'll be careful."

  
A wrinkled hand crosses the table and squeezes Merlin's shoulder supportively. "I believe you when you say this is the only way to save Arthur...but please, for my sake, do be cautious."

  
Merlin smiles faintly and nods. "I promise."

* * *

  
Over the next week, Merlin's time is split between being a living target for Arthur's practice during the day and working on a glamour potion at night. It's a complicated tonic consisting of all sorts of rare herbs he never would have been able to get his hands on if not for Gaius and his near unlimited knowledge of natural remedies and plants. The process is a long one but the night before the tournament, he's able to finish it.

  
Standing over an iron pot which sits above a roaring fire, Merlin stares down at the innocent-looking leaf in his hand. It's the last ingredient, the one that took Gaius the most work to find. Swallowing thickly, Merlin holds his hand over the couldron and lets the herb drop into the clear liquid within.

  
He takes a small step backwards as a plume of black steam begins rising from the pot. Merlin watches in fascination as that final herb melts into the liquid, causing it bubble and froth as if it were boiling. The clear potion turns black before his eyes and he glances over his shoulder at his spellbook laying open on the table. Clearing his throat, he turns back and begins to speak the words written within. _"Elixer nocti, mutare pellem, fac me sicut Arthur Pendragon."_ The young sorcerer's eyes flare gold and the potion stops bubbling. The steam settles and Merlin takes an empty bottle from the shelf, tipping the couldron so that it's filled with the cloudy potion.

  
He's just screwing a cork into its top when he hears the door creak open. Spinning around, shocked, he stuffs the potion into his pocket, only to sigh in relief when it's only Gaius.

  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." The physician says. He goes to the couldron and glances inside, finding it empty. "I assume you've finished?"

  
Merlin nods and pulls the vial from his pocket, smiling. "All I have to do now is get Arthur out of the way and drink it."

  
"Not to mention win the competition and defeat this sorcerer the dragon spoke of..." Gaius reminds him.

  
But Merlin only nods, seeming confident in his abilities. "Don't worry, Gaius. I can handle it." Holding the bottle safely in his hand, Merlin slips past his mentor and heads to his room, meaning to get a good nights rest before the tournament tomorrow.

  
Behind him, Gaius is staring worriedly at the floor. "I hope, for all our sakes, that you're right."


	4. Sir Alder

Early the next morning, Merlin has just arrived in Arthur's chambers. The room is dark, save for a few columns of light streaking in through the thick, red curtains. Arthur is still fast asleep in his bed, covers pulled up to his eyes and a single arm dangling over the side, fingers nearly brushing the floor. He snores quietly, effectively drowning out the sound of his manservent coming through the door.

  
A tray is braced against Merlin's chest, stacked high with meats, cheeses, breads and assorted fruits for the prince's breakfast. Merlin wastes no time in setting the heavy tray down on the table on the far side of Arthur's room. Stretching out his arms - which are still aching from helping his master train all week - he strides across the chamber and goes straight to the window. Grabbing the tails of the thick curtains, he tosses them open. "Rise and shine!" He announces loudly.

  
"Ughh..." Arthur groans, rolling over and trying to cover his eyes with one of the many pillows that litter his bed. "Merlin..." He complains. "Get out."  
"Can't do that, Sire." Merlin tells him. "The big tournament is today. You have to get ready."

  
"Ughhhhhh..." The prince moans again, but starts kicking off the sheets regardless. He sits up, blonde hair messy and eyes half-lidded. Yawning, he reaches out a hand and Merlin places a goblet of water in it. He takes a few gulps of the drink and then Merlin takes it back, replacing it with a plate of food and utensils. Without a word, the servant crosses the room to the wardrobe, pulling out a white tunic and a pair of dark grey trousers, laying them across the bed. Then, from the foot of the bed, he grabs the prince's boots and sets them beside the clothes. Only then does Merlin notice the look Arthur is giving him.

  
"What?" He asks warily.

  
"You're being awful... _helpful_ today." The prince remarks suspiciously. "It's unlike you, Merlin."

  
The sorcerer recoils slightly and frowns. "I'm helpful everyday." He protests, earning a scoff from Arthur.

  
"Pff." The prince climbs to his feet, stretching his back out and rolling his neck. "Sure Merlin." He says superciliously. "Whatever you say."

  
Merlin's lips are puckered into a dissatisfied scowl, a single eyebrow arched in irritation. But he holds his tongue, not entirely sure what kind of disrespect would escape if he let it. He does, however, allow himself to mutter a single, quiet, "Dollophead" before snatching his master's sword from the table and tossing it to the bed beside Arthur's clothes.

  
"You know, Mern, not many princes would put up with your prat-ness. You should be thankful you have such a forgiving master." It's obvious Arthur is trying to entice more anger from his normally good-natured manservant. Merlin can practically feel his friend's blue eyes burning into the back of his head as dutifully begins making up the bed while Arthur dresses behind the screen. But suddenly, the sorcerer's mind is elsewhere. Specifically when he's going to get the opportunity to knock Arthur out, allowing him to cast his spell and take the other man's appearance, as well as his spot in the tournament. The only response Arthur gets out of him is a half-hearted grunt of agreement.

  
Suddenly, the prince's blonde head peeks out from behind the screen, brow pinched between his eyes. "Didn't you hear me, Merlin?"

  
"Oh, I heard you, Sire." His servant replies distantly, thoughts still mostly elsewhere.

  
"And you haven't got any kind of clotpole-ish remarks about it?" Arthur challenges suspiciously.

  
"None I can think of."

  
When Arthur steps out from behind the changing screen, he's tunic isn't yet tucked in and he's still barefoot. There's an annoyed look about him as he studies Merlin, who is silently finishing up with the bed. "Are you angry with me, Merlin?" He asks flatly, not sounding overly-concerned.

  
"Not at all, Sire."

  
Now Arthur is surely very confused. He folds his arms over his chest and shifts his weight, eyes narrowed toward his friend. "So let me get this straight then." He begins, too distracted by Merlin's curtness to notice the way his servant is hanging very closely near his breakfast, back turned to him. "You're actually doing your duty as manservant to-a-tee, you're polite, and you've called me Sire at least three times already this morning."

  
Having finished what he was doing, Merlin turns to face him. "Apparently."

  
"Are you sick or something?" Arthur demands, crossing the room to study his servant's eyes, seeing if they're at all bloodshot or glassy. Anything that would indicate illness. Suddenly, the prince's own eyes narrow. "Or hungover?"

  
Merlin rolls his eyes and frowns. "I've not been in the tavern!" He insists, earning a skeptical snort from Arthur.

  
"Sure, Merlin." He backs off again. "Well there's nothing you can really do for me today. The tournament will take up most of the day and I'm sure I can handle putting on my own armor. So until you decide to tell me what's wrong with you, why don't you return home to Gaius and nurse whatever it is that's bothering you?"

  
Merlin opens his mouth and is about to protest the idea when something comes to mind. With a small smile, he nods. "I think that would probably be best, Sire." He admits, trying to sound sheepish and reluctant. "I'll go back as soon as you're done with your breakfast."

  
Arthur pauses for a moment, obviously not having expected him to accept the idea of missing out on watching the competition. For just a moment, it's almost as if there's actual concern in the prince's eyes...but then it's gone as quickly as it came and he nods stiffly. "Very well then." He crosses the room in a few long strides and takes his seat at the table.

  
Merlin tries to look casual as Arthur picks up his fork and sections off a bite of ham. As soon as it's in his mouth, Merlin has to turn away to hide the look of guilt on his face. He hides his culpability by obsessively straightening the curtains.

  
"Mm? This ham tastes a little--" _Thump._

  
Merlin flinches at the sound of Arthur's face hitting the table. He turns slowly, grimacing. And there, cheek crushing a small handful of raspberries, is Arthur. Deeply asleep with mouth ajar and nose crushed against the edge of the plate. In any other circumstance, seeing his arrogant, condescending master with a faceful of eggs and ham would be quite comical. But Merlin knows Arthur will be unconscious for the majority of the day and night and it's because of the enchantment he put on the food.

  
Swallowing nervously, he inches a bit closer. "Arthur?" He asks in a whisper. "Arthur? Can you hear me?"

  
No response other than a soft snore.

  
Merlin nods to himself, satisfied the enchantment is working, and then goes to the large chamber doors, peering outside to make sure the coast is clear. Finding it empty of guards and servants alike, he disappears back inside and closes the doors again. Digging out the vial from his pocket, he pops the cork and knocks back the foul-tasting potion in a single gulp.

  
With a flash of golden eyes, Merlin feels a near-nauseating wave of magic roll through him and then everything goes black for a split-second.

  
When he's recovered, the sorcerer quickly crosses the room to the mirror, smiling a little uncomfortably when he finds his reflection showing Arthur's square jaw, smooth blonde hair, and blue eyes. "Ahem." He clears his throat, lifting his chin to try and look arrogant and prince-like. "I am Arthur Pendragon, prince of Camelot." He says in a voice that is slightly deeper than his own and sounding fully like his master's.

  
Only now he does he let himself crack a satisfied smile. For once, things seem to be going right for him. He hurries across the room to the real prince's side, hesitating. He hadn't expected things to go this smoothly, now all he needs to do is put on his armor and head down to the arena. Well, that and--

  
 _"Learh fearnancai."_ Merlin breathes once he's in the hallway, hand extended toward Arthur's chambers. The massive, wooden doors swing shut and he hears the metal frames fizzling together, effectively locking them. Can't have anyone accidentally stumbling across the real Arthur face-down in his breakfast while he's supposedly participating in the tournament.

  
Merlin smirks and then spins around to head down to the arena, only to come face to face with Sir Leon. "Ah--hahahahaaa...Sir Leon!" He sputters. "What...are you doing here?"  
The knight hesitates a split second before offering up an apologetic smile. "Um, sorry, Sire. I was just coming to wish you luck in the tournament."  
"Oh, thank you." Merlin replies, still a bit frazzled. "You too."

  
But Leon only tilts his head. "Are you...feeling alright, Sire? You look pale."

  
 _Pale?!_ Merlin squeaks silently. _The spell can't be wearing off already! No...no, it must just be nerves._ "Fine. I'm fine." He assures him, voice cracking slightly in a very un-Arthur-like way. "I was just heading down to the arena to prepare."

  
Leon nods, still looking a little curious. "Of course." He steps aside, clearing the hall for 'Arthur' to pass. "Good luck again, Sire."

  
"You too!" Merlin tells him, scurrying away as quickly as physically possible without actually running. _...that went well._ He remarks dryly to himself.

* * *

  
Merlin reaches the tournament arena a few minutes later and wastes no time in disappearing into Arthur's tent, which he himself set up not a day ago. He tosses his helmet to the table and goes to straightening his shoulder plating, once again finding himself bitterly wondering how Arthur wears this stuff all the time. He's sure his shoulder is going to be knocked out of joint by the end of the day.

  
The only relief on his already weary mind is the knowledge that everything truly important has been taken care of. Arthur is safely locked in his room - maybe covered in ham - but safe. Despite his mannerisms being a less than accurate portrayal of the prince's, no one will question him to harshly now that he looks like Arthur. All he has to do now is keep up the facade and win the competition. Oh...and not get killed by a sorcerer in the process. Sounds easy enough.

  
Merlin is about to turn to his sword to sheathe it when he hears the tent flaps being gently pushed aside. He turns, heart thumping, only to relax slightly at the sight of who stands in the opening. "Morgana." He greets easily, finding comfort in the presence of the Uthir's kind-hearted ward, who he's become friends with over his years of employment in the castle.

  
The beautiful young woman smiles mischievously at who she believes to be Arthur and steps a bit closer, emerald-green silk dress sweeping across the ground, equally gem-like eyes shining as she smirks at him. "Arthur." She replies. "I've come to wish you luck in the competition."

  
Merlin smiles at her, not realizing it isn't something the real prince would do. "Thank you." He says, absently toying with a loose tie on his chain mail. "I'm going to need as much luck as I can get..."

  
The look on Morgana's face is enough to say he's said some very unexpected of the prince and Merlin inwardly flinches. "You're...very welcome, Arthur." She tells him, curiously, black hair falling to the side as she tilts her head. "Are you actually nervous for once?"

  
"Wh-what?" He stammers, digging for the most arrogant reply he can think of. "Of course not! There's no doubt in my mind that I'll be the champion today." He turns away to hide the uneasiness that is surely showing on his face and pretends to be inspecting his blade.

  
At the sound of Morgana's weary sigh, he relaxes again. "What a shame, for a moment there, I actually thought you'd grown a sense of humility."

  
"Pff, you're beginning to sound like Merlin now." He mutters, just to erase any doubt she might have. Even though he's positive she has none.

  
"Well I think it's good of him to speak up to you every once in a while." She says. "Not that it'll do any good. I've been trying to talk some sense into you for years."  
Merlin can't help but chuckle a little at the ridiculous idea of someone being able to talk sense into Arthur's thick skull and he finally turns back to Morgana, who is no longer watching him, though, and is instead holding his helmet in her hands, smoothing out a smudge with her thumb.

  
"Speaking of Merlin, where is he? It's unlike him to be late like this."

  
Merlin inwardly swells a little. At least someone realizes how hard he works around here... But that isn't something Arthur would readily agree with. "Hmph, my lazy manservant never showed up today." He lies flatly.

  
"Really?" Morgana frowns. "That's unusual. Perhaps I should pop over to Gaius's before the compeitition and check on him--"

  
"No, no!" He interrupts urgently, causing the king's ward's eyebrows to go up in surprise. "Erm, the truth is...I noticed Merlin acting sick this morning so I let him have the rest of the day off."

  
If Morgana looked surprised before, she looks blown away now. "Really? Arthur Pendragon let his servant have the day off? And on today of all days?"  
Merlin forces a nervous smile.

  
"Well, I've got to admit I'm impressed. And here I thought you were a spoiled brat, Arthur." She jokes lightly, suddenly stepping closer to help him with that accursed loose tie he's been playing with for several minutes now.

  
Merlin has to physically fight the urge to make some irritating remark just to counteract the compliment she'd given his master and instead thanks her for her help with his chain mail.

  
Morgana wishes him luck one last time before disappearing out of the tent again, leaving Merlin alone once more. As soon as she's gone, he deflates against the table with a relieved sigh. Who knew pretending to be Arthur would be this challenging?

  
Just then, he hears the sound of horns being blown, announcing the arrival of the king. With an anxious swallow, he scoops up his helmet and tucks it under his arm. He grabs his sword with his other hand and holds it out in front of him. _I have to win this tournament for Arthur's sake but the only way I'll be able to win is with magic and I can't preform spells in the arena. Too risky. This is the only way._

  
He closes his eyes for a moment, focusing on the blade in his hand. _"Gladii, facere me inexpugnabili."_ He whispers and then the sword begins to glow a hot, white light. After a short moment, the radiance fades away and the sword looks completely normal again. He flips it around it in his hand a few times, testing its weight and balance. It feels okay, he supposes. Not that he's ever been good with a sword... Hopefully, this enchantment will change that.

  
Merlin peeks out of his tent to find that most of the knights have already lined up before the king. Only he and one other contender haven't yet arrived. Swallowing, he steps out onto the dusty arena floor, sheathing his sword, heart thrumming at the sound of the audience erupting in applause at the sight of him. Him, Arthur, their hero and future king.  
Another set of footsteps suddenly join him from behind and he glances over his shoulder, finding another man just stepping out of their tent. Over his chain mail he wears a light blue cape bearing an unfamiliar insignia. One depicting a deadly arrow being shot from a bow. The man is tall and broad and probably twice Arthur's age, with dark brown hair and a stubbly chin. When the man notices Merlin staring, he bows his head respectfully but despite this, Merlin shivers.

  
There's something...not quite right about this man...

  
Something...menacing.

  
 _"A great evil has arrived in Camelot, young Warlock. One that I fear may be seeking the death of the young prince..."_

  
Merlin frowns and turns away from him, ducking his head low as he joins the ranks the of other knights and princes. Could he be the sorcerer?

  
"As king of Camelot, I would like to extend my warmest welcome to all visiting dignitaries and noble families with sons participating in this tournament toady!" Uther is standing in his balcony above the arena, looking regal and dignified in his crimson cape and gold crown.

  
The audience cheers excitedly until Uther lifts a hand to silence them.

  
"An especially fervent welcome for Sir Brayden Glowarrow, whose family has just allied with Camelot not two months ago. Their friendship is one of great value to the Pendragons, as is his son - Sir Alder's - participation in this monumental tournament!"

  
Merlin's eyes go slightly wide when the man with the arrow insignia politely bows his head and then raises a fist to the air, grinning arrogantly as the crowd cheers. Once more, Merlin finds himself shuddering. There is definitely something quite threatening about this man - Sir Alder. And suddenly he's very sure that his previous assumption is right.  
He's sure Alder is the sorcerer the dragon warned him about.

  
As if hearing his thoughts, the knight turns his head, eyes locking with Merlin's. A slow smirk crawls over his mouth, a dangerous glint in his grey eyes.

  
 _This is the man who wants to kill Arthur._ Suddenly Merlin is a lot less confident in his ability to win the tournament against this man. _On the bright side, if he kills me, he'll be exposed and I won't have to worry about burning at the stake for using sorcery since I'll be dying anyway..._

  
"May the tournament begin!" 


	5. The Threat Revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGH! I'M SO SORRY I FORGOT TO UPDATE! I'VE BEEN SO BUSY THESE PAST FEW DAYS THAT I HONESTLY JUST FORGOT TO POST THE CHAPTERS!!!

"May the tournament begin!"

  
The crowd writhes and cheers excitedly in their seats around the arena as Uthir takes his place by Morgana's side and the competitors part from the center of the sandy field. Merlin steals a look around at his competition and doesn't exactly like what he sees. All these men are much bigger and stronger looking than he is. Even those who aren't much bigger are many years older and more experienced. They walk in a uniform line back to the tents where they will wait for their chance to fight, many of them glancing at Merlin once they've gotten to their places.

  
It's bizarre to Merlin how these men can simultaneously nod respectfully to him and refer to him as 'your highness' while looking like they want to savagely rip out his throat. It's intimidating to say the least and suddenly he's glad it's him here instead of Arthur because he's beginning to wonder if the sorcerer is the only one who's going to try to kill him today. At least he has magic to defend himself if need be.

  
With a nervous sigh, Merlin takes his place by the front of Arthur's tent, watching as the first two opponents take center stage. They're both middle aged men no younger than Uthir and, by the gear they're wearing, appear to be from the same kingdom. They square off and circle around each other for a few seconds before lunging.

  
Swords clash and sparks fly into the air. This fight isn't to the death so the weapons are blunt but that doesn't stop the knights from swinging and slashing at each other as if trying to draw blood. It's a ferocious battle, but only lasts about a minute before one of the knights has his legs swept out from under him by his opponent's blade and he collapses to the sand.

  
The bystanders clap and whistle and the victor bows arrogantly. Merlin notices Gaius hurrying onto the field to check on the knight who lost, only to be shooed away by the embarrased man. And with that, the first match comes and goes. A crest is knocked off the score board and another is moved up.

  
Merlin shivers at the sight of the Pendragon emblem only four slates down. Only three matches seperate him and his first opponent. Fortunately - or unfortunately - his first adversary won't be Sir Alder. Who is taking the field right now.

  
Merlin watches him closely. The way he walks does say he grew up as a noble, there's a definite swagger to his step and he smirks a cocky grin as he waves to the crowd. He hates to think it's possible but this guy might be even more pompous than Arthur!

  
Alder is fighting a much more hulking man than he is. They square off but, this time, there are no games. The larger man immediately swings out with his sword, Alder nimbly jumping back to narrowly avoid the blow. Taking the momentum of his movement, the Glowarrow turns and drives his blunt weapon into his opponents sternum, striking with enough force to knock the gigantic man to his back. The match is over within seconds and the crowd seems just as stunned as Merlin, despite their cheers.

  
A cold feeling settles into the young sorcerer's stomach as Alder straightens from his battle and strides back toward his tent, grey eyes cutting in Merlin's direction, a knowing smile on his lips as his crest is moved up on the board, the hulking man's being thrown to the ground...

* * *

  
Merlin's first match goes well, as well as if Arthur, himself, were fighting. Due to the enchantment, his sword weighs next to nothing in his hand and it seems to almost direct itself in the fight, clashing against his foe's with ease and accuracy. It's almost a mindless fight, one that Merlin wins without struggle.

  
The crowd goes insane as he tugs off his helmet and forces a grin at them, stealing a look at the king to see if he appears suspicious. But Uthir is only smiling at him and offers a nod of approval to his 'son'. Merlin responds with a weak grin and then hurries off the sand back to his tent, going directly inside to take a breather. Apparently, maintaining two enchantments as powerful as these at the same time is rather taxing, even for Merlin.

  
He tosses his helmet to the table and leans back against the stable surface, wiping the gleam of sweat from his brow. _One match down, many, many, many more to go..._ Sighing, he opens his eyes at the sound of another fight beginning. Best get back out there before someone gets suspicious.

* * *

  
By the time the semi-finals are over, Merlin must have fought at least fifty men. His arms are throbbing despite the enchantment and his head is pounding from over using his magic. He's a bit unsteady and weak and that doesn't go unnoticed by the other knights of Camelot, especially Sir Leon, who lost about four rounds ago to a knight from some distant kingdom, who was then defeated by Alder...

  
"Sire, are you sure you're alright? I could fetch you some water..." Leon offers dutifully, only to be turned down for the third time now.

  
"No, I'm fine, Sir Leon." Merlin assures him tiredly. He doesn't want to drink to rest or eat...he just wants to get this over with so he can wake Arthur and go home, where he plans to sleep for the next three months. He's not even as concerned about how he's going to explain away Arthur's lack of memory of the compeition. That can wait until his brain doesn't feel like it might pop.

  
"I believe Sir Leon is right, Sire." Another knight agrees. "You are about to compete in the final round. You'd best keep up your strength."

  
With a frown, Merlin nods his head. "Alright, I'll get something to drink." He tells them, standing from his relaxed position against the table in his tent but then both Leon and the other knight hurry out, telling him they'll fetch it for him and just to rest for a while.

  
They're only gone for about two seconds before the flap of his tent is swept open again and Merlin groans inwardly, wondering what it takes to get some peace and quiet around here. He turns, gratefulness for the water on his tongue, when he realizes who it is...and freezes in place.

  
"I hope I'm not intruding, Prince Arthur." Alder almost purrs, eyes narrow and dangerous.

  
Merlin can only swallow nervously and shake his head. "No...of course not."

  
The other knight smiles, head tilting a bit to the side. "I merely wanted to extend a wish of luck for you luck in the final round. I hope I prove to be worthy adversary." He extends his hand, but Merlin hesitates, eyeing it suspiciously. He doesn't feel any magic from this man but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Slowly, he reaches out and takes Alder's grip, shaking firmly and hoping his palm isn't sweaty with fear.

  
"Thank you, Sir Alder." He mutters as firmly as he can manage. "I'm sure our match will be...interesting."

  
Their hands part and Alder grins. "I hope so, Sire." Without wasting another moment, he turns and marches out of the tent, leaving Merlin alone again. The young sorcerer closes his eyes for a moment against the pounding in his head.

  
 _Looks like he means to try to kill me during the match._ Merlin decides, wearily. He can only hope the enchantment on his sword will be enough to stop him. Using magic in the arena could prove dangerous and he'd rather not risk it.

  
"Here's your water, Sire." A voice says behind him and Merlin turns, expecting to see one of the knights. Instead, a young man probably a few years younger than him is standing in the tent opening, head bowed, looking subservient and docile. His clothes are that of a servant and in his rough, calloused hand is a cup of water.

  
Merlin offers a small smile to the servant boy and takes the cup. "Thank you." He says politely and the boy nods, beginning to back out of the tent. Merlin turns away again, wanting to rest his eyes for a few more moments before the final round.

  
"One and...one more thing, Sire?"

  
Merlin turns back, wondering what he could want. But as soon as he glances over his shoulder-- _BAM!_ Merlin yelps as a powerful wave of magic slams into him, effectively throwing him through the wall of the tent.

  
_CRASH!_

  
The other competitors and onlookers gasp at the sight of Camelot's prince sprawled out on his back on the edge of the arena, groaning and rubbing the back of his head where it struck the ground. Merlin's vision swims slightly as he struggles to sit up, confused and bewildered. Who struck him? The servant? But that doesn't make any sense! Alder is the sorcerer...right?

  
Within seconds, he's surrounded by the knights of Camelot, weapons drawn and ready to defend him. The servant boy steps out of the tent, expression dark. In his hand is a small knife which glows with magic.

  
"Guards! Seize the sorcerer!" Uthir snaps from the balcony, urging the soldiers forward. But the servant doesn't move, even as he's encircled by the knights. And neither does Merlin. He gapes at the boy, whose eyes begin to glow gold...

  
"WATCH OUT!" Merlin shouts in warning but the other sorcerer is too fast. The guards are thrown aside by an invisible force, leaving only the servant boy and Merlin on the field.  
"Arthur Pendragon." The boy snarls, ignoring the sound of Uthir calling for reinforcenemts. "Do you remember me?"

  
Merlin struggles to his feet, wavering slightly as his vision doubles momentarily. So this boy knows Arthur...? He must be after some kind of revenge. But Merlin doesn't know this boy so he can't say that he remembers him. In hopes of stalling, he only remains silent.

  
"What's the matter, your highness? Have you truly forgotten me? Are you really that arrogant?" He growls, obviously trying to get a reaction from the 'prince'.

  
Merlin grimaces inwardly. The guards are still quite a ways away and if this doesn't end soon, he's going to have to fight this boy. And something is telling him an enchanted sword won't be enough to defeat him... He'll have to use his powers. _Now I see why the dragon warned me not to let Arthur compete. This would be a no win situation for anyone without magic._ "I'm sorry, have I wronged you in some way?" He tries weakly, earning a bewildered stare from the other warlock.

  
"So you truly don't remember me." The boy decides. Snorting angrily, he extends a hand in Merlin's direction. "My name, Arthur Pendragon, is Dunstan. Dunstan Tallridge. As you may recall, you personally led a small army into my village not two years ago when you heard it was a refuge for escaped sorcerers. Your very own blade struck down my mother and father." He hisses furiously. "Not that I expect you to care, _Sire,_ but I, alone, escaped with my baby sister Anna. We fled into the woods and nearly died of starvation. The only reason I'm still alive is because of my magic. It kept me going. Anna, however, was not so fortunate."

  
Merlin can only stare in silent horror. Did Arthur really do something like that? Is he capable of slaughtering innocent people in such a way? No wonder this boy is so hateful...  
"She was still young and her powers were immature. She died at the age of three. And all because she had magic."

  
"Listen--" Merlin begins, scrambling for a way to make Dunstan see reason.

  
"I'm not interested in your excuses, Pendragon. The only reason I did not simply kill you while your back was turned was because I wanted you and all of Camelot to know what you did to me!" He shouts. "You claim magic is a plauge upon this land but you're wrong! It is you, _your_ family, who is evil! And now you're going to die by my hand, as my family died by yours..."

  
Merlin can hear the sound of the approaching knights, their armor clanging together, swords being pulled from their sheathes. But they're still too far away. If this really was Arthur, he would be in grave danger. But it isn't Arthur...

  
 _"Ligfyr!"_ Dunstan shouts and the arena bursts into flame, a wall of fire surrounding he and the supposed prince. Through the roaring blaze, Merlin can just barely make out the shape of the knights, who have just arrived. But there's nothing they can do now.

  
Shuddering despite the immense heat, Merlin draws his sword and squares off against the sorcerer. They circle a few times as Dunstan stares at him like he's prey.  
"I'm sorry for what happened to your family!" Merlin calls out over the roar of the flames. "But killing me won't bring them back!"

  
"That's true but I'll feel a hell of a lot better about it!" The sorcerer barks as he shoots a ball of fire in Merlin's direction, which he narrowly dodges, almost rolling into the wall of flames in the process. "I think this has gone on long enough, Prince Arthur. Don't you?"

  
Merlin staggers to his feet, panting and sweating. He stares with a level glare as Dunstan raises a hand again, eyes flashing gold.

  
 _"Wáce ierlic!"_ The air seems to explode around Merlin as he's thrown back to the ground, sword skittering out of his grip. Pain radiates through his body from the stunning spell and he finds himself temprorarily paralized... A second later, Dunstan reaches his side and smiles. "Isn't irony wonderful, Sire?" The boy's eyes flash amber and he opens his mouth to speak the spell that will end Merlin's life...

  
But he doesn't get the chance.

  
It must have been shocking to see the crown prince of Camelot suddenly have his blue eyes flash gold, but Dunstan doesn't get a chance to linger on it for very long because he's suddenly knocked backwards by an invisible force and 'Arthur' scrambles for his sword.

  
Merlin grabs the hilt of the weapon and spins to face his attacker, finding Dunstan still laying motionless on the ground, staring wide-eyed at him.

  
"You...you have magic...?" The boy breathes in disbelief. "But you...slaughtered people because of those very gifts! How..."

  
"I'm sorry, Dunstan. I really am." Merlin whispers. "Arthur is a good man. He's going to be a great king who I believe will lift the ban on magic. So I have to protect him until he can."

  
"What are you talking about...?" The boy demands, confused.

  
"I'm not Arthur. I used a spell to look like him because I knew someone was going to try to kill him today. But please believe me when I say you're wrong about him. If Arthur did do what you claim he did, I'm sure he had a reason and it's not because he simply hates magic. He's fair and just."

  
"Is that so...?" Dunstan slowly sits up, eyes narrow as he inspects Merlin's carefully placed expression. "Does he know you have magic? Does he even know you're here today, protecting him?"

  
Merlin falls silent for a moment. "No, he doesn't."

  
"Hmph." The other sorcerer closes his eyes in defeat. He can clearly feel how powerful Merlin is now that he's used magic. With his own limited training, there's no way he'll be able to defeat him. Whoever he is. "Then how can you be so sure? How do you know the prince won't simply have you burned at the stake if he finds out who you really are?"  
Merlin hesitates because he doesn't know that. "Because that's his destiny." He says carefully. "And it's my destiny to protect him."

  
Dunstan nods, looking thoughtful. "So you're going to kill me, then?"

  
But Merlin shakes his head. "No, not if you don't make me. I'm truly sorry for what happened to your family and I can understand your hatred of those who did it. But if you keep trying to kill Arthur, I'm going to have to kill you." As emphasis, he points the sword at the boy's head, forcing himself to remain composed, despite how hard his heart is thundering and how much he doesn't want to kill someone who has suffered so much. And who leads such a similar life to his own...

  
But Dunstan doesn't give up, as he'd been hoping he would. Instead, the other sorcerer bows his head and closes his eyes. "Then get it over with." He growls. "Because if you let me live, Uthir's men will have me hung or burned. And if I escape them, I'll be a fugitive in this land forever." He raises his eyes to Merlin's and smiles darkly. "But I'll come back and I'll keep trying to kill Arthur. Because I don't believe a single word you've said. Arthur is as cruel as his father and he'll never be a friend to magic."

  
At the disappointed look on Merlin's face, the boy shrugs.

  
"Sorry, friend, but it looks like you're going to be hiding who you really are for the rest of your life." And with that, Dunstan reaches out grabs the hilt of Merlin's sword, driving it through his own chest.

* * *

  
"Sire, are you alright?!" Sir Leon shouts as he and the other knights race across the sandy field, where the flames have just dissipated on their own. The 'prince' is standing over the fallen sorcerer, his expression unreadable.

  
"I'm alright." He tells them stiffly.

  
Right behind the guards is Uthir, who pushes through the center of the small crowd of men surrounding his son until he reaches him. "Arthur." He says, relieved, gripping Merlin's shoulder.

  
"I'm fine, father." The young sorcerer assures him in a deadpan tone. "The sorcerer is dead."

  
As if the entire crowd heard his words, the onlookers burst into cheers for their prince. The knights clap respectfully, wearing proud smiles on their faces and Uthir places a hand in the center of "Arthur's" back.

  
"The danger has ended. My son, Arthur Pendragon, has killed the evil sorcerer who threatened his life!"

  
More applauds and cheers ensue and Merlin knows he should be relieved that the danger is over and Arthur is safe again...but he just feels sick to the stomach.

  
"Sire." The voice is Gaius's. Merlin turns to find his mentor standing behind him, a sympathetic frown on his face. "Are you injured? I noticed you rubbing your head earlier..."  
Merlin pauses, unsure of what he means until he remembers how he was initially thrown out of the tent, having landed hard on his neck and back. In all honesty, his head does hurt a little. He offers a weak smile to the physician, who takes hold of his arm and starts leading him away from the arena.

  
"I'll take a quick look at him, Uther, just to make sure nothing is damaged."

  
The king nods at him and doesn't protest in the least.

  
As soon as they're away from the arena, Gaius leads Merlin into an alley and hands him the potion to undo the spell. Merlin swallows it in a single gulp and, with a flash, reverts back to his true appearance.

  
"Are you alright, Merlin? What happened in there?" He demands, prodding his ward's head to the side to inspect his head for injury.

  
"I'm alright, Gaius." He mutters quietly. "Just a little...shaken, I suppose."

  
"And for good reason. When I heard what he said about Arthur killing his family, I didn't expect you to finish him off..." The way Gaius says it, it sounds like more of a question. He wants to know what happened in the ring of fire because he doesn't believe it was Merlin's choice to kill Dunstan.

  
But all Merlin does is look away and mumble, "Neither did I."


	6. Epilogue

" _Mer_ liiiin!"

  
Merlin looks up from his work straightening a dent in Arthur's armor to find the source of the miserable groan. The prince is laying in his bed, a pinch between his eyebrows as he stares in utter confusion at his servant. "Oh, Sire, you're awake." The sorcerer replies calmly.

  
"Awake...? What on Earth are you talking about?" He asks drearily, trying to sit up, despite the sure grogginess clouding his head.

  
Only then does Merlin set down his work and turn to face his friend. For the last hour, he's been struggling to come up with a believable explination that will cover all bases and finally, he thinks he's got everything figured out. "Don't you remember, Sire? You were knocked out in the tournament..."

  
Arthur stares blankly at him for a moment before his eyes narrow suspiciously. "What do you mean 'knocked out'? There's no way I was knocked out!"

  
Merlin suppresses a smile and tries to ignore the pang of guilt that goes along with fibbing. He hates lying like this but knows it's a necessary evil if he wants to protect Arthur and also keep his head safely on his neck. "Exactly how much do you remember, Arthur?" He asks carefully.

  
The prince seems to contemplate that for a moment before shaking his head. "Nothing since breakfast." He admits and Merlin nods, humming to himself as if in confirmation of something.

  
"Gaius said as much. You took quite a blow to the head when that sorcerer threw you from your tent. Apparently it's a miracle you even retained consciousness for as long as you did." Absently, he reaches up to touch the spot on his own aching head where said injury exists. However, Gaius's true words were that he'd be fine except for a headache for the next few days.

  
"A sorcerer?" Arthur mutters to himself. Then, with a sigh, he shifts in his bed, sitting up against the headboard. "So I take it I lost the competition then."

  
However, Merlin turns to him with a smile. "Actually, it's quite the opposite, Sire." He reveals with a grin. "You were in the finals, about to fight your last opponent when the sorcerer attacked. After you..." Merlin allows the smallest of hesitations to pass before saying the word 'killed' because even though Dunstan was out of his mind with hatred and he would have murdered Arthur...it's never easy killing someone, especially someone so like himself. "...killed the sorcerer so bravely, your opponent - Sir Alder - withdrew from the tournament. He said you earned your victory." Merlin smirks at him, secretly proud of himself for once again keeping his friend safe, despite everything else. "You won, Arthur."

  
The blonde man stares uncomprehendingly at him for a moment before breaking into a huge grin. Arthur tosses his bedsheets aside and staggers to his feet, "Merlin, you can finish that later." He says, grabbing his servant's elbow and dragging him toward the door. "I wish to speak with this Sir Alder. Clearly, he is a man of great nobility and deserves some sort of compensation for his benevolence."

  
"I agree, Sire." Merlin tells him. _I almost feel bad for suspecting him in the first place..._  Merlin follows him out to the training yard where Arthur heartily thanks the other knight, adding that he's sure their families will remain allies for a long time if their descendants are as courteous and noble as he is. Alder thanks him as well and says he hopes they will get a chance to spar in the future, that he's sure the prince would make for some interesting competition. The two knights exchange goodbyes and Alder leaves to find his family so they can reach their home before nightfall, leaving only Merlin and Arthur standing in the arena, where -only hours before- a sorcerer was making an attempt on the prince's life.

  
"Say, Merlin." Arthur says after a moment.

  
"Yes?"

  
"I thought you were taking the rest of the day off. Why were you in my chambers when I awoke?" The prince looks genuinely curious as his manservant turns to face him. But this is one lie that Merlin doesn't need to think about. It's an easy response, one that would be the truth had Arthur really sustained an injury like he was told he did.

  
"When I heard you'd been hurt in the fight, I figured I'd better stay with you in case you needed anything." He tells him, turning away again to stare out across the sandy arena where scorch marks are still clearly visible in the dirt.

  
Arthur is silent for a moment, blue eyes taking in his friend with a thoughtful gaze. After a few seconds, he turns as well and folds his arms, relaxing against the fence that surrounds the field. "Thank you, Merlin." He suddenly says, chuckling in amusement at the surprised look his servant gives him. But instead of ruining the words with 'don't be stupid' or calling him an idiot, Arthur simply says, "You've always been a loyal friend."

  
For a moment, Merlin actually wonders if Arthur might know the truth, that Merlin saved his life today, like he has so many times before... Because when does his pratish master ever actually thank him? But at the slightly sheepish expression on Arthur's face, Merlin decides he's simply relieved to have won the tournament and is in a good mood, that's all. So the servant grins at Arthur and allows himself to be pleased with his good work today. "I aim to please, Sire." He retorts, playfully elbowing the prince.

  
And Arthur snickers quietly, standing up from his place against the fence. "In that case, you should know my chambers need cleaning, my armor needs polishing, my horses need feeding, and the stables need mucking."

  
Merlin sighs heavily and moves to follow Arthur as the prince starts back toward the castle. "Prat." He mutters under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys and I hope you enjoyed! As always, feedback is loved! :D


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